


The Book of Love (And Things We're All Too Young to Know)

by pentaghastly



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Character Death, F/M, Fenris Needs a Hug, Memories, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, elf babies, i did a sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-21 14:38:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/901450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pentaghastly/pseuds/pentaghastly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>For all his suffering at the hands of Danarius, Fenris thinks that there is no crueler master than time.</em>
</p><p>Fenris and Hawke, in life, in death, and the years inbetween.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Book of Love (And Things We're All Too Young to Know)

> “somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond  
>  any experience, your eyes have their silence:  
>  in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,  
>  or which i cannot touch because they are too near
> 
> your slightest look easily will unclose me  
>  though i have closed myself as fingers,  
>  you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens  
>  (touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose
> 
> or if your wish be to close me, i and  
>  my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,  
>  as when the heart of this flower imagines  
>  the snow carefully everywhere descending;
> 
> nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals  
>  the power of your intense fragility: whose texture  
>  compels me with the colour of its countries,  
>  rendering death and forever with each breathing
> 
> (i do not know what it is about you that closes  
>  and opens; only something in me understands  
>  the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)  
>  nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands”
> 
> \- E.E. Cummings

\--

There have been few times in his later years when he has despised who he is. As he sits perched by her bedside in their final days, this is one of them.

Not who he is in the markings on his body - those no longer define him, no longer consume his thoughts. They are more decoration than anything, now that their fighting days are mostly over, things for her to trace with wrinkled, time worn and battle scarred hands, as they lay wrapped around each other under twilight's cloak, when the world has abandoned them once more and they are _Hawke and Fenris_ instead of an old farmers couple with too much time and _far_ too much coin.

He hates himself for being an elf, for still being - for the most part - active and healthy and strong, while her body wastes away before his eyes. He thought that they'd have years together, time to spare, things to do, but the healer beside him gives them a week at the most, some garbage about a body that has more than run it's course.

He wants to argue, to snap at the man for saying such a thing, but Marian smiles and squeezes his hand, and it's enough to keep him rooted in his place.

_If there is a future to be had, I will walk into it gladly at your side._

_If._ It is a cruel word.

\--

They're young and reckless and stupid, and for the first time in their lives the two of them are free.

Practically thirty at she acts like a child, flicking food in his face when he's too silent during a meal, tugging on his sleeve to guide him through this forest and down that cliff when they're traveling and she's particularily bored. They still have to be cautious - she's an apostate and they're both sort of criminals, having aided a rebellion - but the two of them have been cooped up in Kirkwall for so long that they've gone a little stir-crazy, and they take advantage of the little pleasures they can find.

They're young and reckless and wanted, and they don't really have a plan.

( _She wants to go to Ferelden - Alistair and his Cousland queen will help them, she claims - but he things it's a terrible idea, and the first place anyone will look. He suggests Starkhaven, a big enough place to hide, but after allowing Anders to live Sebastian will not welcome them with open arms. Neither suggests Tevinter, thank the Maker, and even though Orlais now feels like their only option he's really praying they won't end up that desperate)._

They don't have a plan, but maybe it's better that way. They're unpredictable, in any case, and will certainly prove a challenge for the templars to catch. 

Sometimes they'll be wandering through a particularly shaded area and she'll give him that look of hers; out of the corner of her eyes, all burning passion mixed with a bit of amusement, and he'll laugh and say " _What, again?_ " But he won't be laughing five minutes later when she's got him pressed up against the back of a tree - eight years now, and she still has the upper hand. 

They can never linger too long, one of the downsides of being fugitives, but he'll always hold her in his arms for a few minutes afterwards, memorizing the feel of her all over again. She's soft and hard all at once, pliant skin and round curves over taut muscles and wiry strength, and as Fenris openly admires her she'll tuck her head into his neck to hide her blush - eight years now, and he can still make her blush just with an adoring look. 

_"At my side?" Hawke would ask as they lay there, more of habit than of actual need for confirmation. It's not what she's really asking, anyways, and the both know it._

" _At my side?_ " she asks. _"Yours forever?"_ she means, although each time his answer is the same. 

"Always," he tells her, and he means it. 

\-- 

_It was never supposed to end like this._

Fenris doesn't make a game of imagining her death, but in the rare moments when his mind would torture him with the thought, it was nothing compared to how it is now. Marian had always said that she wanted to leave this world the way she had entered it - _naked, screaming, and in a blaze of glory_ \- which would typically lead to a lewd joke from Isabela, but in truth it was no less than what she deserved. She deserved a champions death, a hero's death. Not this. 

There is no glory in this. 

\-- 

They're young and reckless and still don't have a plan, and it's just about two years into their travels when Hawke starts making a habit of losing her lunch every twenty minutes. 

Neither of them want to admit what it means, because the thought would be terrifying for two normal people, let alone an escaped Elven slave and an apostate both on the run from all of the templars in the Free Marches and beyond. It cannot be, _cannot _\- and yet when her belly starts to swell and her robes start to fit just a bit tighter, it turns out it is.__

___"Maker guide us, this is _so_ fucked up," are the only words she can say for quite some time. He tends to agree._ _ _

___But whatever the case, they're not so stupid that they can't face up to the facts. It's time to stop running. Hawke _can't_ even run properly any more, thanks to the slow swell of her stomach (neither of them are ready to call it a baby, not even close). So they buy passage to Rivain, a place where his tattoos and her magic will hopefully blend in a little bit more, purchase the first and the most unimposing home they can find in Llomerryn, and they _settle _.___ _ _

_____And it's _odd_._ _ _ _ _

_____They fall into a routine rather quickly, for there's no lack of smuggling jobs for him to do in the city of pirates and criminals, and even though it's hardly a appealing lifestyle, it's more of a life than they've had in years, and in their own way they grow to love it._ _ _ _ _

_____"I'll think I'll name her Bethany," she tells him one day, placing both hands on top of the swell that's now hardly a swell at all and more of a bulge, smiling prettily and glancing down to where hands meet fabric. He almost asks how she knows it's a girl, but thinks better of it quickly - he's been told mothers simply know - and even though Fenris still doesn't love the idea of them being parents (they're hardly qualified for the job) he thinks with Hawke in charge, perhaps it won't be quite so painful._ _ _ _ _

_____\--_ _ _ _ _

_____They don't sleep together as much in their twilight years - that's not to say they don't at all, because sometimes she'll surprise him with a burst of energy and wandering hands that will take him all the way back to those first years together, all the way back to Kirkwall and nights filled with uncertainty and excitement all bundled into passion - but the majority of their time is meant simply holding, learning, taking advantage of what they can._ _ _ _ _

_____She's still beautiful, even though her body has gotten softer with age, her skin looser. It's her eyes, bright and blue and shining as ever, eternal markings of youth on a face far past that point. There is laughter there, and love, and a glimmer of hope even in a time when there is none to be found._ _ _ _ _

_____They don't talk much in these moments, a rare occasion when Marian's company is involved, but he finds he cherishes the silence. In a life far more hectic than he could have possibly imagined living as a slave, moments of peace are rare, and these moments with her are as priceless as gold._ _ _ _ _

_____So when she coughs and there's a smattering of blood on his shirt, he doesn't say a word._ _ _ _ _

_____\--_ _ _ _ _

_____Bethany is beautiful and wild-eyed and as hungry for adventure as her mother, a sucker for chaos and trouble in a city certainly filled to the brim with it. She's nearly five now, practically a little girl grown, and they still haven't left Llomerryn, the arrivals of Carver, and most recently Malcom, making sure of that._ _ _ _ _

_____Her brother - at least the one that can walk and talk - is a touch more timid, far more likely to be found clinging to the skirts of his mother's robes than wandering the streets, but Bethany is quite the opposite, and from the moment she is born Fenris can hardly remember a moment with out the dark haired little devil by his side. She's a daddy's girl through and through, and even though Hawke teases him for it he can tell she's secretly proud._ _ _ _ _

_____Who'd have thought, the two of them entirely domesticated parents living in the crime capitol of Thedas? At first he found it funny - now he simply finds it funny how well it suits them._ _ _ _ _

_____How well it suits _him_._ _ _ _ _

_____Parenthood had never been an appealing idea for Fenris - first because slaves didn't have children, and then quite simply because he couldn't fathom the idea of being responsible for another human being when he could hardly ever be responsible for himself. It was a concept so utterly terrifying that it seemed the stuff of nightmares; for certainly one as damaged as him, one as broken couldn't raise a child into anything less than a disaster._ _ _ _ _

_____But time and circumstance are far more powerful than one man's will, and just as his heart softened for mother, it softens for child._ _ _ _ _

_____He knows Hawke is going insane, tucked away in their feeble excuse for a home. It's hardly bigger than her uncle's sty in Kirkwall, and no more welcoming, but in a city where crime runs rampant, where they still cannot afford to draw attention to her presence, where three children, one no more than a baby require constant attention, she has locked herself away. It's safer, in any case - while they know she's alive, the Champion, little is spoken of her broody elf (_ assumed dead? simply not important? he's not sure, and he doesn't care to know_) and they cannot take the risk of her capture._ _ _

___Fenris doesn't know what he would do without her. Die, most likely. Probably go insane for a bit first. A killing frenzy or two, perhaps. He doesn't dwell on it much; he may have been a masochist before, but he certainly is not any longer. Not now that he's been given something to care for._ _ _

___It is not ideal, but they make the best of their little hole, and they still hold each other close at night, because it's all they know how to do._ _ _

___\--_ _ _

___She wastes away before his eyes - the mage was wrong, the week has past and she still breathes, still smiles, still laughs, stubborn woman that she is, but it is not enough - and he knows they do not have much longer._ _ _

___For all his suffering at the hands of Danarius, Fenris thinks that there is no crueler master than time._ _ _

___\--_ _ _

___In their sixth year in Llomerryn Hawke calls him into their front room with a screech of his name, and fatherly instict sends him running through the door in what must be a record speed._ _ _

___He glances at her face first - she's shocked, and confused, and...is that amusement? Scowling, she shakes her head and points towards the children, who are playing as if nothing is out of the ordinary._ _ _

___Carver is whacking the air with a wooden sword, making battle noises for himself as he strikes down an invisible foe. Nothing curious there - his form is a little off, Fenris notes at first, and then he reminds himself that the child is _four_ , and that really shouldn't be his top concern. Malcom is giggling and rolling a ball, hardly an activity worthy of alarm, and Bethany -_ _ _

___Bethany is sitting in the corner with a ball of fire in her hands, looking all-too-pleased with herself._ _ _

___" _Shit_ ," he mutters at the same time Hawke coos " _Just like auntie and Mummy!_ ", and the incredulous look he shoots her is met with one now filled of pride, fear gone and replaced with a look that is so _motherly_ that even after all of these years seeing Hawke as a parent, watching her dote on her children in a way he never imagined possible ( _they're a nice change from all the fighting, you know_ she had told him once, and he agreed), this look takes him aback._ _ _

___"She certainly is her mother's daughter," he states dryly, but his lips curl up in a smirk just to assure her that he's not angry his child is a mage. Years ago, maybe, but he's long past that now. And then he adds, wary of the fact that _yes,_ mages may have more freedom but they still certainly aren't free, "Time to move on?"_ _ _

___She agrees with a sharp nod, and in the dead of night the city of pirates is far behind them._ _ _

___\--_ _ _

___"Where's Bethany?" she asks on one of the better days, glancing at him from her perch near the window, and he tries his hardest not to think about how thin she's become, how frail. So much less that the woman who could throw nearly twice her weight across the half of Hightown, but he knows she's self-conscious enough about it as it is, so he doesn't allow his eyes to linger for too long. It's probably written all over his face, but he hopes the attempt makes up for it._ _ _

___"Taking the children out for a walk. Apparently Isabela's magic is acting up again, and I didn't think you'd want the house burning down."_ _ _

___Marian snorts, in that moment sounding less like an old woman and more like her twenty-year-old self, the self that would use the sound as it's own language, and the elf cannot keep the smile off his face. He missed that sound. "I still think it's ridiculous, that they named all their children after them." She rolls her eyes but her voice is light, teasing, and his smile widens._ _ _

___"Especially the pirate. I'm not so sure about you, but I'd rather a grandchild of mine didn't take after her." she's grinning along with him now, a slight chuckle escaping her lips, and it's the most alive he's seen her in a while. He's not quite sure whether today is a turn for the better or the worse, but he can certainly pretend._ _ _

___"Where do you think they are?" she asks, and he resists the urge to answer " _dead_ ". Not for the first time in his life, he will humor her, if just to see that smile on her face a moment more.  
Storytelling has never been his thing. That was for the dwarf, but she looks so peaceful, and he can push aside his pride for just a moment. It's something he's gotten rather skilled at when it comes to Marian - placing her ahead of dignity. He doesn't mind the knowledge as much as he might have, once._ _ _

___"Aveline and Donnic had a brood of red-headed young, just as I predicted," that earns a laugh - he knew it would. "She's still ruling somewhere with an iron fist, and her husband is still making sure she doesn't end up going Meredith-level crazy. Merrill and Varric are married," he shakes off her incredulous look at that, motioning for her to _just go with it_. "And running around spreading happiness to people who don't want it. Anders is living alone with a thousand cats and never happier, and Isabela is on a ship somewhere, fucking her way to her grave." It all seems appropriate enough, anyways._ _ _

___She pauses for a moment, seemingly content, and then adds, "And Carver?"_ _ _

___He's not sure how to answer that one. Fenris never knew the younger Hawke well, and what he knew he did not particularly like - the boy had been immature and selfish, but those were different years, and they were different people. He's sure that the stubborn warrior had liked him no more._ _ _

___But they both know the truth. Carver had his calling, and as any Grey Warden should, he answered it. It's what the King and Queen of Ferelden did years ago, what they all must do - he knows it, and Marian knows it, but he also knows that it's not what she wants to hear._ _ _

___So he lies. But, he thinks, he also tells the truth._ _ _

___"Carver is thinking of you. Every day. He worries, but he doesn't show it. You know how he is better than anyone, I'm sure - pig-headed. He won't admit it, but he worries about you. But he's happy."_ _ _

___The words soppy and sentimental and not at all him, but they make her smile again nonetheless, and he counts that as a victory._ _ _

___\--_ _ _

___They purchase a farm in the middle of nowhere, and it seems so... _bizarre_ , the two of them living a quiet, rural lifestyle. There are no smuggling tasks and illegal jobs for him, no violence for her, and they both miss it - but Bethany can run out in the field and cast as many fireballs as she wants ( _far_ away from the house, as he constantly reminds her), and Fenris supposes that makes it worth it._ _ _

___Again they fall into a routine, although this one at once far less and far more exciting than theirs in the city. Since Malcom is more child than baby Hawke and him find themselves with more time on their hands, and so often an eight-year-old Bethany and her brothers are sent to the barn to play - no magic, no swords, not without supervision, of course - and the two parents find themselves learning each other's bodies all over again._ _ _

___He holds her tighter than before, because age makes a person sentimental, and they're practically ancient now, making her more precious than every. She traces and retraces the paths of his lyrium with her fingers, and he makes her tell the story of every scar marring her perfect flesh - Fenris knows them all by heart, of course, but he likes to hear her tell it, likes to see the excitement in her eyes as she recalls close encounters and daring escapes, many of which he was present for. Her face as she speaks enraptures him, however, and quite quickly they tend to deviate off topic; not that either of them are complaining._ _ _

___"Something curious has just occurred to me," she states once, out of nowhere, as he cradles her in his arms. It is nighttime and the children sleep so her voice is hushed, but it cracks through the silence like a whip, snapping him out of his peaceful revere._ _ _

___"And what would that be?" he mumbles into her neck - it's likely nothing that curious at all, it never is, but he will humor her anyways. It's what he does, after all._ _ _

___She's silent for a bit, humming under her breath to herself as she traces his back, clearly distracted. It's always reassuring, seeing her in moments like this and knowings he's not the only one easily veered off-course by her mere presence. Knowing that he can have the same effect on her is constantly invigorating, and he takes pleasure in the rare moment._ _ _

___"We've had three children together, and we're not married. Darling Fenris, I'm afraid you've made quite the harlot out of me."_ _ _

___He barks out a laugh far louder than he should with sleeping children right near by, but the chuckle in her hushing makes him feel far less guilty for it. "Yes, because that was _entirely_ my doing. Of course, I'm sure Jethann would beg to differ."_ _ _

___Hawke looks mildly insulted by that, but it's masking amusement - of course it is, when is she _not_ amused? - and she smacks him lightly on the shoulder. "Shut up, elf. This is a serious matter - by all accounts I'm a ruined woman now, and likely will be forever, since Maker knows there's not a chantry to be found in this blasted country."_ _ _

___He considers her words for a moment, silent now, and shifts himself up onto his elbow so he can see her fully. "You think the blessing of some old bat makes us married?" he asks, black eyebrow raised in questioning. In the cracked darkness his view of her is blurred, but she is beautiful as ever, and it takes every ounce of power in his body to resist the urge to touch her face, to memorize her all over again. "As far as I'm concerned, you've been mine since the day you walked into my life, and I've been yours, and anybody who tries to tell me otherwise will have my fist in them soon enough."_ _ _

___Now is her time to laugh, and he rolls his eyes at her when he realizes _what_ she's laughing at - she's no better than Isabela at times, and he wonders at the fact that this woman is actually a woman at all and not a child - but then he sees that there are tears in the corners of her eyes, and that the laughing is just a cover for something else._ _ _

___So he kisses her, hard, knowing she wouldn't want him to see her cry, and her lips are soft as her body pressed against his, and when he enters her she doesn't gasp, or cry out, or shudder._ _ _

___Instead she goes perfectly still, pulling him as close to her as she can, and presses her lips against his once more. " _I love you,_ " she whispers, and he thinks he could die happy in that moment._ _ _

___\--_ _ _

___This is the end._ _ _

___He doesn't remember details of her death, has no images to place to memory - he remembers he was there, and he remembers that he cried, but there is nothing but the feel of her hand on his and a sharp intake of breath, and the tears of Bethany in the corner, and Carver's hand on his shoulder, and Malcom standing at his back, and there's black and white and then, all of a sudden, there's nothing at all._ _ _

___There is no blaze of glory. She does not leave this world as she entered it, she does not leave this world as she lived it - she lives this world confused and afraid and in pain, and then she's gone and days have lost meaning and food is bland and tasteless and words mean nothing because they are spoken in voices that are, very clearly, not hers._ _ _

___They light her a pyre. It's the least they can do, give her the dramatic exit she was robbed of._ _ _

___Malcom leaves first. Then Carver and his family, Bethany and hers last. They ask if he'll be all right on his own and he answer is no, but he shoos them away anyways. They've got better things to do, longer lives to lead - his is reaching it's end, and he will not place that burned on them, not now. He has managed on his own before, and he will manage again._ _ _

___It's quiet and lonely, and he lays a new pair of robes out on her bed every morning, just in case. In case of what he is never sure, but it sounds better than admitting to madness._ _ _

___She wouldn't want this. He doesn't care any more._ _ _

___For him, this is the end._ _ _

___\--_ _ _

___Her fingers spread wide as they reach up towards the sunlight, as if she stretches just a touch farther she'll be able to catch it in her hands. Eyelashes flutter against alabaster skin, and he thinks he has never seen her look so fragile, so pure, so lovely._ _ _

___Blue eyes flicker open to meet his, probing, questioning. With one look she opens him as if he were a novel, a book within her extensive library, and he is opening to her and her alone, his words spilling out before her as they so often do, and he is not afraid. She has that power, his Hawke, that gift - _magic_ , he'd told her once, and what a stupid thing to say to a mage, she'd never let him live it down._ _ _

___"At my side?" she questions, lips twitching upwards, as if challenging him to say anything other than what she knows he must._ _ _

___"Always," he says, knowing he has lost her game - it's not as if he stood a chance to begin with._ _ _

___She smiles back, content; "Always."_ _ _

**Author's Note:**

> this was not supposed to be anywhere near as sad as it was fuCK I'll show myself out.


End file.
